


I Love You a Latte

by superagentwolf



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, mostly unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's the kind of man who plans his days down to the exact minute- that is, until the day he has free time and decides to step into the little coffee shop by campus. It is possible that Erik has no clue how to go about wooing a twenty-something year-old angel. It is also possible that he doesn't really need to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Tart

**Author's Note:**

> This is an import from FF, so please excuse any lateness in updating. Also, the first two chapters are kind of short. After a year of just not getting around to finishing, this story is now being dusted off! I actually seem to have an unhealthy obsession with coffeshop!aus. I blame the Starbucks on campus. Anyways, enjoy!

Erik is a man of structure. His days are planned right down to the half-hour, and that's the way he likes it. His college courses are all arranged in a neat, effective way that will keep him on the path to success. Erik is going to pass his classes, graduate with top honors, and become successful. Even with his strict schedule, nothing will stand in Erik's way- not a changed class date, a moved deadline, a pop quiz. Nothing.

It seems like some sort of karmic joke that his undoing will be a simple cup of coffee.

Blue. Clearer than the sky, too dark to reflect some ocean on the shores of a white beach. Erik isn't sure he's ever seen eyes as blue as this.

The blue eyes belong to a young man, probably twenty-one if he's a day. He has fair skin the likes of which Erik's never seen; it's almost as if the sun doesn't wish to defile it. Dark, almost black-brown locks fall messily into the young man's face, and his lips are the most intriguingly rosy-pink color.

"May I take your order?"

Such mundane words to have fallen from the lips of an angel.

Belatedly, Erik realizes that he's probably gazing at the young barista with too much intensity to pass off as misguided. In fact, Erik can almost believe that this man knows just by looking that Erik is suddenly, quite unintentionally, completely in love.

"Coffee. Black," Erik says, and it's to his great yet unhelpful relief that the barista smiles warmly and nods, because apparently Erik's even tone is enough to cover up his previously unabashed stare. Erik watches the barista turn to start up the coffee, and he thinks that maybe he should've ordered something a little more intricate, because _dear lord_ this man moves like something beyond graceful. The best ballet dancers in the world would be shamed by his movements. Erik tries and fails spectacularly not to stare at the pale wrist exposed as the man pours water into the coffee pot, arm bracing against the carafe like he's performing silver service. The way Erik's heart begins to beat at the sight of the wrist is ridiculous, and he is mentally indignant that such a simple expanse of flesh is sending him into giddiness like a young, Victorian lady. In fact, everything about this chance coffee trip is making Erik indignant.

Why did he have to be out of coffee? Why did he have to have an empty space in his schedule? Why? Erik can't stop bemoaning his situation until the barista returns, flushed pink cheeks and shy smile, standing just to Erik's left as he places the coffee on the table.

"Here you are, sir."

Erik is dead, and he just doesn't know it yet. He is completely convinced that this man was put on earth simply to torture him, and he has no clue what to do, watching the barista go about setting pastries in the glass case by the register. Sure, Erik's had girlfriends- the occasional boyfriend- but no one's lasted more than a week. Erik doesn't _do_ relationships. Or, more accurately, relationships don't do _him_. Erik is too structured, too set. He can't be with a rigid person because he can't be with someone who is set on a goal that doesn't cross his path. He can't be with an undisciplined person because he can't stand someone without a goal who only exists for his livelihood. The only people who could possibly put up with him are people interested in what he is, and there aren't many. There are fewer he can stand.

"Would you care for a tart?"

Erik splutters into his mug, but only because his train of thought made the statement sound odd. The barista's looking concerned, and Erik calmly gathers his racing heart. He's about to say no- he usually doesn't eat sweets, especially when they're an extravagance. He's about to say no, but the man has such _blue_ eyes, and those lips are pulled into a hopeful smile, and suddenly he's saying-

"Yes. Thank you," and at that moment, Erik knows he's done for.


	2. An Unexpected Mug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is helping out at a coffee shop owned by one of Raven's friends. It's a cold morning and he's late to work, but a rather handsome customer shows up that makes it all worthwhile.

Charles is late.

The coffee shop is dark and empty, the last few edges of night creeping away as the sun begins to rise. It is approximately a quarter past six, and Charles simply _knows_ that he won't have enough time to finish setting out the pastries before the customers trickle in.

The morning is a crisp forty degrees, and there are puddles below the awning where ice melted and dripped down. A car passes by, the only one to be seen for miles. Charles hurriedly unlocks the door, fingering his worn lanyard with cold fingers. _I can hear Raven now,_ Charles thought to himself grimly. _"You'll love the shop, it's wonderful! Moira says she needs a new employee since Sean and Alex are both still in high school."_ _Right. So all I have to do is open every morning during the week._

With a small click the doors swung open and Charles rushed in, barely bothering to discard his jacket and scarf under the counter before hurriedly setting up the café. While acting as a barista wasn't Charles' dream, he had already shot ahead in his studies and was working on a research paper. The free time had left Charles wanting for _something_ to do, and Raven had begged and pleaded for Charles to help out Moira, one of Raven's classmates. Charles had the sneaking suspicion that Raven might be trying to set them up, but he was willfully avoiding such an event.

Charles heard the bells ring and greeted the first customer of the day with a bright smile.

* * *

It is eight in the morning when Charles sees him.

The bells on the door barley ring, clear notes an immediately signaling a customer. Charles turns away from the tray of tarts he's been setting out and almost loses his breath at the sight of the man that has taken a seat at the window table.

He is tall and lean, his gorgeously fit jeans showing the faintest hint of muscle. He is wearing a distressed leather jacket, probably vintage if the quality of the rest of his dress is anything to go by. His dark hair is painstakingly slicked back, and his eyes are a striking, cold, blue-grey. His cheekbones are simply _godly_ , and suddenly Charles is quite sure that his mouth is hanging open.

_Oh my god. Charles. CHARLES DO YOUR JOB._

Charles quickly breaks from his reverie with a tenuous control he's honed from years of working with those in higher positions than himself.

"May I take your order?"

The man looks up from a planner he has just been looking over, and Charles dearly hopes to god that the man won't be angry for the interruption. The man is silent, his gaze appraising Charles, and he doesn't talk, and _oh my god did I honestly just ruin any chance I ever had?_

"Coffee. Black," The man finally says, and Charles smiles and nods because he can't really talk, not when that rich voice has just invaded his ears and rendered all language useless. _That VOICE._ Charles quickly flits away, taking a carafe of water to fill the coffeepot. He swears he can feel eyes burning into the back of his head, but he desperately tries to keep his composure as he fills a mug with steaming black liquid. It is all Charles can do to simply announce his presence once again.

"Here you are, sir." The man takes a sip of his coffee, and Charles notices something stormy in his eyes, and his mouth opens, unbidden.

"Would you care for a tart?" Apparently, the man had forgotten about Charles, because he instantly chokes on his coffee, face flushing. _Oh no, what have I done, I'm just bothering him, I almost KILLED him, what is WRONG with me!_ Charles can feel a nervous smile twitching on his lips and his eyes are burning a little bet and then the man says,

"Yes. Thank you," and in that moment, Charles' heart explodes a little bit inside his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally don't rewrite chapters from other character's perspectives but I picked this story up after being away for a year and I needed to get back into the mood. Again, sorry for the laughable length!


	3. Princess Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles is too captivating for Erik to ignore and the result is an awkward, teenager-y invitation to a university event. Or: the one where Charles is a Disney princess and Erik is the unwitting prince that falls under his spell.

Erik nervously fiddles with the strap of his laptop bag and immediately stops, shocked at himself. He is not some teenage girl with a crush. _You might as well be,_ his brain tells him, and Erik doesn't like how the wry voice sounds like Shaw. _Bastard,_ Erik responds spitefully before realizing he's literally talking to himself. In his head.

This unhealthy habit is just one on a list of many that Erik's suddenly taken up in the past few days. For starters, he indulged in something sweet for the first time in years- two, to be exact. Although maybe even before that Erik possibly developed a not-so-adult crush on the barista at his favorite coffee shop. It is possible.

In any case, Erik has inadvertently captured the attention of said barista. Or maybe it's just Erik's own clouded judgment that makes it seem so. Either way, the blue-eyed barista has been working every day since they met and Erik thinks that he's probably a new recruit, possibly from a nearby college. The only other people that ever work at the tiny shop are both definitely teenagers, besides the owner herself. The blue-eyed man seems to be older, though, maybe even Erik's age if he's trying desperately to believe so. In any case, the guy looks both impossibly young and astonishingly wise at the same time. It's paradoxical and Erik doesn't quite understand it himself.

The day after Erik met the new barista there was a sort-of altercation at the coffee shop. A young couple- Daniel and Peter, Erik remembered, because they were shouting each other's names quite often- seemed to be having a disagreement about moving into an apartment. The coffee shop was usually a quiet place populated mostly by studying college students and young adults fresh into the workforce, but Tuesday it was the stage for a not-so-pleasant disagreement.

Peter was the loud one, his voice raised above the pleasant music drifting from unseen speakers. Most of his argument was composed of alternate versions of "your parents can't control you, you're twenty". Daniel, by contrast, was obviously upset and unsure about the moving situation and was desperately trying to keep peace between his boyfriend and his parents. Erik was vaguely disgusted by Peter's insistence and eventually started to become extremely angered by the older man's forcefulness. His grip was quickly threatening to crush his mug and several other customers were throwing annoyed glares in the couples' direction.

There was a sudden cry in a familiar voice and Erik turned to see the barista standing by the arguing lovebirds' table with a tray of overturned mugs and coffee splashed across his neck and shirt. Erik was on his feet before he realized it but was quickly stopped by a warning look from the barista- and for some reason, Erik sat back down, watching attentively. The barista was speaking calmly to Peter, who was initially sullen and defiant. After a minute or two, however, the barista pulled up a chair. Erik blinked in surprise as the barista spoke quietly with the two men, listening more than he spoke.

Something about the way that the barista sat and listened to the two men, his features interested yet schooled, made Erik think that he was older than he looked. _Maybe he's just good with people. I'd never be able to talk to Peter. That man seems like an asshole._ The barista continued to talk to both men, and eventually Peter started to look incredibly ashamed and on the verge of tears. Erik was vaguely shocked at the reaction, unsure of what exactly was happening until the man exchanged some words with Daniel and the two ended up hugging across the table. The barista just smiled as he quietly left, taking the tray of ruined drinks with him.

The barista returned a minute later with new drinks and the two men waved their hands and apologized profusely, both demanding hugs and pressing a generous tip into the barista's unwilling hands before they left. Erik raised his eyebrows at the barista, who simply shrugged, looking somewhat abashed as he blushed. The image made Erik start to blush, and he turned quickly, resolving to do something nice for the tolerant young man. He was certainly special.

Erik shakes himself from the memory, adjusting his bag for the fiftieth time before determinedly opening the doors of the coffee shop. The place is nearly empty- it's barely half past opening time and seven thirty in the morning is too early for most of the shop's patrons. Erik would never admit it, but he's not a morning person himself- it's part of the reason that so many people think he's unapproachable. Erik is generally quiet, but in the morning he's liable to eat someone alive, so he doesn't talk and instead barely manages one-word replies and dry stares. The result has been the misconception that Erik is just unfriendly in general and should not be approached under any circumstance. It's somewhat useful, though, since Erik had successfully convinced himself that friends waste time unless they're in one of your classes. That very mantra is now being tested to its limits.

The barista is spinning around joyously to the big band music playing louder than normal in the coffee shop, his brown waves strangely messy as his head bobs to the music. Erik can tell the man is humming as he gets closer- it's a wonder he isn't singing, because Erik can just see it now. _Like a Disney princess or something_ , Erik thinks fleetingly, and then his mind is fixated on an image of the barista with huge blue eyes and random wildlife flitting about him as he sings in an angelic voice.

Erik chokes on air because he's forgotten how to breathe for a moment and he is simultaneously shocked, amused, and disturbed by the image. The barista hears him and spins around, lips parted and cheeks bright red. _OH MY GOD_ , Erik's inner voice screams, and his inner self jumps up and down while flailing wildly at the adorable scene before him. Outwardly, Erik clears his throat.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you," Erik says, waving a hand distractedly as the barista sidles up to the counter with a contrite expression that makes him look like a particularly lovable puppy.

"It's no problem. I should pay more attention," he says, laughing sweetly as he runs a hand through his unruly locks. Erik smiles, a truly unheard-of feat at this hour. The barista ducks his head for a moment, biting his lip in a way that makes it even redder and more enticing. "So what are you doing here so early?" Erik takes a moment to consider that the barista knows his schedule and the result is another inner freak-out he manages to squash quickly.

"Well, I was just…," Erik trails off, every possible excuse he'd dreamed up on the way to the coffee shop suddenly disappearing as the barista absolutely _gazed_ up at him. The man mistakes Erik's lack of words as unwillingness and he blushes even harder, this time seemingly upset.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just-,"

"No. It's okay," Erik interrupts, suddenly more at ease. _Maybe he wants to know me better, too._ "I actually was wondering if I could have your name," Erik says easily, as if he does this sort of thing all the time. Apparently the barista believes it- or maybe he's just that innocent; Erik can't tell but he's glad either way.

"Charles. I'm Charles Xavier," the barista says, and his smile is wide and sunny. Erik wonders for a moment if he'll be incinerated when he shakes Charles' hand.

"I'm Erik Lehnsherr."

* * *

It's Thursday already, four days since Erik met Charles and one day since he learned the man's name. The weather has taken a turn for the worse and it's both freezing and windy outside as Erik steps out of his car and into the coffee shop. The shop is pleasantly warm and filled with the scent of peppermint, the most popular flavor of the cold season. Charles is standing behind the counter with a decidedly dreamy expression on his face and Erik almost feels guilty at the thought that he's about to disturb the man's peace. Almost.

"How are you?" Erik asks, stripping his gloves off and folding them into the pocket of his jacket. Charles starts from his reverie, blushing faintly. Erik has been wondering if the blush is just for him- he's certainly never seen Charles so flustered before anyone else. Or maybe Erik's just been catching him off guard.

"Great! How's the cold?" Charles asks, nodding towards the huddles of unfortunate people braving the sidewalks outside. Erik chuckles, leaning against the counter in what he hopes is a nonchalant pose, although it's been planned for days now as an attempt to get closer to Charles.

"Not too cold. I grew up in Poland," Erik explained, and the sudden confession surprised him beyond words. His childhood was never a topic up for discussion, not even with people he considered old friends. To be talking to _Charles_ , a man he'd met barely four days ago, about his past was startling.

"Wow," Charles said, and he leaned forward, chin resting in his palms. His blue eyes were wide and interested. "That must have been hard for you," Charles said softly, and Erik's gaze snapped up from the counter on which he'd been so focused. His expression must have been as shocked as he felt because Charles rose from his position hesitantly, looking unsure. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked tentatively, fingers gripping the countertop.

"No- no. I just…no one's ever said that before," Erik replied, laughing shortly, looking at Charles with renewed appreciation. "Everyone always makes vague comments about travelling abroad or something equally irrelevant."

"Ah," Charles said, looking immensely relieved. "It's not like I know a _whole_ lot about Poland," he said, self-consciously tucking a stray wave behind his ear. "It's just, I can't imagine being a child in that sort of environment. You must be awfully sensible," Charles said, laughing brightly, and Erik smiled back at him wonderingly. _He's perfect. Absolutely perfect._

"I suppose. That probably isn't the best thing for a writer to be, though," Erik said, leaning against the counter easily. Charles' eyes lit up and he suddenly leaned forward even closer than before. The proximity was enough that Erik caught the scent of something green and sharp- spearmint? peppermint? - wafting from the man in delicious waves.

"I absolutely _love_ literature," Charles said excitedly, and his cheeks were adorably pink. "I never could write that well, but I certainly enjoyed reading everything that was sent my way," Charles said, laughing self-deprecatingly. _That can't be true. Everything you say is perfect,_ Erik thought to himself as he watched Charles. A sudden notion overcame Erik and for once he quickly spoke before he could think on it too hard.

"Say- there's a ceremony tonight for graduates of the English department. I would love- I mean, if you'd like…," Erik fumbled with his words for what was probably the first time since high school as he tried to come up with a nonchalant way to say "B MY DATE PLS THNX". Luckily Charles seemed to get the gist and his eyes lit up in a way that seemed to make them shine impossibly brighter.

"I'd love that. Yes. Are you sure it would be…acceptable?" Charles' voice was so hopeful that Erik wanted to die.

"You could never be unacceptable," Erik reasoned faintly, eyes searching Charles' face, and it was only after he said it that he realized he had spoken aloud. Charles' lips were parted, eyes wide as he looked up at Erik with something closely resembling reverence. The expression sent a dagger through Erik's heart as he remembered an entirely different scene in which he'd played the part of the worshipful student. _I can't do this to him,_ Erik thought suddenly, sickeningly, and he could _feel_ the ghost of cold hands against his back, insistent.

"Thank you," Charles said, and the pure feeling in his words was enough to obliterate the chilling specter gripping Erik in its dark embrace. He gazed down at Charles for a moment, marveling at all that he was before smiling back.

"Here," Erik said suddenly, reaching for a pen and napkin to quickly jot down his number. "You can call me and I'll pick you up. The ceremony starts at seven, but we don't have to stay for dinner. I'd rather not see my old professors again; especially not the ones whose ideas I indirectly criticized in my essays," Erik joked, sliding the napkin across the counter. Charles laughed, fingers tracing the grooves in the soft paper.

"Sounds wonderful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. So, at this point, I feel like this is going to be as slow a burn as I can possibly coax from this story. I'm pretty rubbish at lengthy stories, especially where mutually attracted parties are concerned- but I feel like Erik's past and Charles' true nature are going to play big parts in how their relationship develops.   
> BONUS: What song do you think Charles would most likely have been singing to?


	4. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik realizes that if he wants to get anywhere with Charles he's going to have to make a confession he hadn't even considered before. There may be plenty in Erik's past but there's something in his present, too.

The ceremony isn’t until seven and Charles probably won’t call until at least six or six thirty but Erik is already pacing the floor of his apartment. It is three o’clock in the afternoon and the three hours ahead of Erik seem like days. The silverware in the kitchen drawers is rattling agitatedly and Erik takes a moment to calm himself. _Wait a minute._

A sudden wave of shock and hopelessness crashes over Erik, rendering him immobile and nearly unable to breathe. Mutations aren’t rare but they aren’t exactly commonplace, either. While mutants may be treated mostly like just another ethnicity, there are people that don’t quite follow the school of thought that has brought tolerance and equality for mutants in recent years. Erik can still remember his teenage years and the names and anger that were thrown his way.

 _What if Charles doesn’t-?_ The mere thought makes Erik’s chest constrict painfully around his heart. The despair threatens to swallow him whole for a moment before he realizes what he’s thinking. _No. Charles would never be so- he would never do that to anyone. He’d never hate someone just because they’re different,_ Erik reasoned to himself, and he’s not entirely sure that his belief in the idea is entirely fueled by desperation. Now that he thinks about it, Charles just doesn’t seem like the kind of person to _hate_ , period.

 _I’ll tell him tonight anyways,_ Erik thinks determinedly, drawing himself up and clenching his fists in resolve. _I can’t hide this from him. If he doesn’t like it, that’ll be the end of it. At least I’ll have told him before he hates me more for not doing so._

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur as Erik takes the painstaking time to get cleaned up for the event- although if he’s honest the only event he’s preparing for is telling Charles about his mutation. The navy suit resting on Erik’s sheets is new and tailored to perfection. Even though he hadn’t planned on attending the ceremony Erik had bought the suit as a sort of celebratory gift to himself- a wise investment and indulgence at the same time.

Erik’s phone vibrates and he feels rather than hears it from two rooms away. His heart pounds painfully as he makes his way to the entryway where it sits on a table by the door. For a moment he contemplates simply ignoring the call and locking himself in his apartment until the night is done but the panicked idea flies just as quickly as it came to him and he reaches for the phone.

“Hello,” Erik says, and his voice is almost imperceptibly shaky to his own ears.

“Hi.” Charles’ voice seems thin through the phone and Erik is illogically mad at the device for ruining the luxurious, Oxford-accented tone he’s used to hearing. On the bright side Erik can still hear the giddy excitement in Charles’ voice.

“If you’re ready, I can come get you,” Erik says, smiling as he speaks. It’s only six, but far be it for Erik to turn down extra time with Charles. In any case, if Charles turns out to be disgusted by Erik’s revelation then there will be time to make his way home without running into the traffic caused by the ceremony.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Charles says, and there is barely-contained mirth in his voice. Erik feels himself smiling as he pictures the way those blue eyes will undoubtedly be sparkling at the moment. “I live on campus, so there’s really no reason to,” Charles says, finally laughing. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, I was just so excited!”

“That’s all right,” Erik responds, chuckling. _It does complicate matters, but…_

“Well…I was actually wondering if you’d like to come over for a short while before the ceremony. I- the housing here is nothing spectacular, but…,” Charles trails off, and his initial joy seems to have given way to uncertainty and nervousness.

“No, I’d like that. What’s your apartment number?” Erik tries to infuse his voice with all the reassurance as possible; it seems to work because Charles seems to cheer up a bit as he gives Erik brief directions. _At least now **I** can be the one to walk out and make things easier for him, if he…_ The thought dies in a small corner of Erik’s mind where he pushes it, determined to at least try to make the best of his situation. He’ll be damned if he starts to expect the worst from Charles.

 

* * *

 

Erik’s feet seem to be cemented to the floor outside of Charles’ apartment. It’s relatively small but thankfully not connected to any other rooms- the perks of being an upperclassman are few but great. _Come on, Erik. You can do this._ He knocks on the door with horrifyingly nervous hands that can’t seem to stay still.

The Charles that answers the door is unlike anything Erik’s ever seen before. He is suddenly filled with the compulsion to shove Charles back through the door and fuck him senseless, which proves a difficult desire to cope with when he’s trying to confess. The dark blue pinstriped suit Charles is wearing was most definitely pulled from a rack somewhere- it’s quality but not expensive from what Erik can tell. Despite being a poor college student’s purchase it seems to fit well and Erik can just imagine what a good suit would look like on Charles.

Erik grins to see that even in formal dress Charles retains some of his laid-back charm. His dress shirt is blue and conspicuously unbuttoned to a daringly low spot that showcases mouthwatering glimpses of fair skin and a delicate collarbone. _God, he even has sex hair._

“Erik. You…look _significantly_ more at home in a suit than I do,” Charles says, laughing, after staring for a good two minutes, a light blush dusting his cheeks. Erik snorts unattractively, clearing his throat nervously before he speaks.

“I don’t think so. You-,” he stops short of finishing his sentence as a beautiful, blonde young woman emerges from a hallway adjoining the main living area. Erik can _feel_ his smile falling but he struggles to keep a civil face as Charles looks confused.

“He looks like sex,” The woman says, and she’s smirking in a self-satisfied way that makes Erik want to strangle her. The only thing stopping him is Charles’ raging blush and the way he looks over his shoulder, startled.

“Raven,” Charles says admonishingly, but his voice comes out in a squeak and Erik tries very hard to not just turn on his heel and leave. His smile feels stretched, wound tight and angry. Raven raises an eyebrow knowingly at Erik and he falls even more in hate.

“No, don’t thank me, _brother_ ,” Raven is saying, and Erik’s heart feels like it’s suddenly been inflated with helium. His smile hurts even more but for a completely different reason and he thinks he probably looks very amusing right this instant. “You kids have fun,” Raven practically sings, and she waltzes past Erik with a catty wink.

Charles groans in embarrassment as his sister leaves and Erik tries to contain his elation. As Charles moves aside to let Erik in Raven’s words echo in his mind.

“I’m sorry. She just- I told her where I was going and she insisted on dressing me,” Charles says miserably, and Erik chuckles, eying Charles again with a more appreciative gaze.

“I’m glad she did,” Erik says smoothly, and his smile is all teeth as Charles blushes furiously. There’s something uneasy in Charles’ stance, though, as if he wants to proceed a certain way but isn’t sure whether or not he should. Erik softens his gaze and removes his jacket, hoping to put Charles at ease.

“Erik, I…I’ve been meaning to… _talk_ to you,” Charles begins, and he swallows nervously, fingers beating irregularly against the back of a cheap couch. Erik sits at one of the tall stools by the bar and laces his fingers together, looking down at his hands.

“I have too. I mean, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Erik says carefully, and then he thinks, _No, that isn’t right. Tell you. I’ve been meaning to **tell**_ _you_.

“I’m a mutant.” The words are proud, unwavering, but tinged with fear. It takes Erik a moment to realize that Charles is the one that said them. He looks up to see the man’s face, astonished, and sees the same uncertainty that Erik’s been feeling. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve told you sooner, it’s just…I mean, we were...,” Charles falters and his blue eyes grow glossy with the beginnings of tears.

“Oh, Charles.” Erik rises quickly, hands moving to hold Charles’ face but stopping short. “Firstly, it makes no difference to me at all,” Erik says firmly, and Charles’ blue eyes are wide and hopeful as he looks up at Erik. “Besides…so am I.”

They are both silent for a moment, comprehension and amazement overriding the gravity of their confessions. Charles is the first to break the silence, his delighted laughter and tears spilling forth at the same time. Erik smiles at the miracle that is Charles Xavier and resolves never to second-guess him again because Charles constantly defies all expectations.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charles says, laughing while wiping away tears. “I just…I’m so happy it turned out this way,” he admits, and Erik smiles back at him. There is no longer any doubt or uncertainty in his heart as he extends a hand towards the ceiling fan. Erik can feel the metal chain pull towards him and the room floods with light, illuminating Charles’ tear-streaked face and the wonder adorning it.

“Metal,” Erik says in response to Charles’ questioning gaze. “I seem to have an affinity for metals. Useful when I lose pens,” he says jokingly, and Charles laughs, looking up at Erik with newfound amazement.

“That’s incredible. I…I can… _read minds_ , if you will,” Charles says, and he fidgets nervously, looking somewhat nervous again and avoiding Erik’s gaze.

“Really? That’s…incredible,” Erik says, grinning at the echo. Charles coyly glances up at Erik, dark lashes fluttering like the heartbeat the older man can hear in his ears.

 _(Thank you,)_ Charles’ voice says, and it’s not audible but Erik can _hear_ him. Charles’ voice is everywhere but nowhere at once, in Erik’s head but out in the _real_ , _tangible_ world at the same time. Erik can feel his eyes widen and the smile tugs at his lips more forcefully.

 _(Can you hear my thoughts?)_ Erik wonders, and Charles smiles wider.

 _(Yes. Don’t worry, I try not to listen in. Most times I just get feelings from people. I’d never try to read your thoughts without permission.)_ Erik nods understandingly.

“So…I suppose we should go,” Erik says, suddenly remembering the ceremony. So much has happened that he’d almost forgotten about it. Charles seems to have forgotten as well, because he immediately starts in surprise and rushes from the room.

“Yes! I just- my coat-!” Charles yells from his bedroom, voice muffled, and Erik smiles fondly before his thoughts begin to travel down the dangerous road that the words “Charles” and “bedroom” lead him down. _Shit. What- wait. Can he hear me?_ Erik wonders in a moment of panic before Charles returns, grinning lopsidedly. “Please…don’t worry about me hearing your thoughts, Erik. I never listen in on people. You can always reach me, though- if you think of me,” Charles says, blue eyes bright, and Erik has a hard time containing his desire to just kiss him right then and there.

“It will be difficult not to,” Erik responds teasingly, and Charles’ blush and protests do absolutely nothing to stop the grin that’s plastered across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many people didn't see that coming? I know I didn't. I was never sure if this AU would still include powers but I felt like it made sense for what I intend. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Read an review!  
> BONUS: Charles' suit, for those who were wondering- http://v-style.typepad.com/my_weblog/images/2008/04/28/jamesmcavoyysl.jpg


	5. Bellissimo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira catches up with Erik and Charles at the ceremony and attempts to push along what she already sees happening. There is shared pasta and plenty of blushing looks exchanged.

The ceremony turns out to be mostly uneventful compared to the hour Charles and Erik spent together before. Erik has the distinct feeling that _everything_ will begin to seem uneventful compared to _any_ time spent with Charles. Erik receives an award for his published work (rubbish poetry, in his opinion) and Charles is right there with a glowing face to applaud and later needle Erik for not mentioning the nomination.

The evening has mostly passed in a dreamlike state when Moira MacTaggert, a no-nonsense woman in charge of technical writing classes, sees Erik and Charles. Erik knows Moira simply by name and reputation- she’s involved in the more practical side of the English department and they seldom associate. Charles, however, seems to recognize Moira on more than a passing level.

“Charles! You still haven’t turned in your draft,” Moira says by way of greeting, and Erik stifles his laughter poorly at Charles’ incredulous expression. Moira has a reputation for being persistent, if not downright pestering.

“Well, I- I’m sorry. I sent it by email, it must have not gone through. I’ll send it again,” Charles says innocently, but Erik hears him clearly when he projects _(I must have rewritten that thing over a dozen times; she’s not getting it any time soon.)_ Erik snorts in an ungentlemanly manner and Moira frowns, her attention suddenly focused on him. It seems as if she hadn’t noticed Erik before, but now that she has a look of understanding and mischievousness overcomes her features. Moira’s expression is so reminiscent of Raven’s that Erik has to wonder if it’s simply a female thing.

“I didn’t know you were going to bring a date,” Moira says, and although her words are directed at Erik it’s Charles that sputters a little bit, blushing. Erik raises an eyebrow at Moira in a well-practiced mask of cool collectedness, refusing to be thrown off guard.

“Charles is a friend. Am I not allowed any?” Erik responds, taking a sip of champagne and trying to gauge Charles’ reaction to the statement. _Will he be angry that I called him a friend? I don’t know what else to say._ Moira doesn’t seem convinced by Erik’s bravado and she boldly responds to his front.

“None of my friends have such nice asses,” Moira notes bluntly, and she smirks at Charles’ raging blush. “Besides, who lets their _friends_ walk out in public- to a _formal_ event- with sex hair? Unless, of course, it’s your _fault_ he has sex hair. Or you like seeing it. Or both,” Moira adds, a hand on her hip as she admires said hair. Erik is rendered entirely speechless by her forwardness.

“Moira, that’s quite enough from you,” Charles says, and he seems to have collected himself rather well. _They must be friends,_ Erik thinks to himself as Moira grins devilishly at Charles. “Why don’t you go torment some poor, unsuspecting freshmen?” Moira departs with a cheeky wave and a wink in Erik’s direction as if she thinks she’s done him a favor.

“Well. I think this is the perfect time to suggest we leave,” Erik says, raising an eyebrow at Charles. The telepath laughs, shrugging on his jacket. _(Absolutely. I’m sorry about that.)_ “Although I think dinner is in order,” _(It’s not your fault,)_ Erik adds smoothly, as if suggesting that Charles straighten his vest. Charles’ blue eyes dance merrily with light as he grins.

 

* * *

 

Erik blames Moira for the way he can’t take his eyes off Charles’ ass. She was right. It _is_ nice. The fact that Charles’ suit isn’t tailored seems to make it more noticeable, the sleek fabric of his pants stretching snugly in a _very_ distracting way. Thankfully their destination is a small Italian place just across the street from the campus and Erik is too eager to talk with Charles to walk behind him.

Charles’ mind is unsurprisingly complex and he has much to say on just about every topic. When Erik makes note of the fact, Charles responds blushingly about his apparent genius IQ and Erik falls a little more in love with him. It couldn’t be any more extraordinary that Charles is actually _choosing_ to spend time with _Erik_ of all people. The thought is humbling and Erik resolves to never forget that Charles is something to be treasured.

The Italian restaurant is apparently one of Charles’ favorites- or it could be that Charles is just memorable enough that _everyone who works there knows him_. The cook comes out from the kitchen to say hello and speaks in a heavy accent before saying, “Lui è bellissimo!” while gesturing to Erik. The tired servers- many of whom are probably in college themselves- seem to perk up and all too happily rush about to find Erik and Charles a secluded table. There is one waitress in particular, a blonde with an obscene amount of cleavage and leg showing, that seems to have been turned down or ignored by Charles in the past. The woman- Emma- is dismissive to Charles, who seems completely pleasant to her in comparison. Emma takes too much interest in Erik, however, and his discomfort at her attentions seems to show.

 _(You don’t like her,)_ Charles thinks calmly as they eat their salads. Erik pauses for a moment.

 _(No. I don’t.)_ Charles tilts his head, brow furrowed. He seems curious and Erik decides to take the opportunity to gauge what exactly their relationship is.

 _(She’s quite beautiful, though,)_ Charles projects, and Erik might be mistaken but Charles seems to stab at a leaf of romaine with a little too much aggression.

 _(Maybe. I don’t enjoy beautiful women throwing themselves at me,)_ Erik replies, trying to remain nonchalant while watching Charles from behind his lowered lashes. There is a palpable wave of surprise emanating from Charles and Erik takes a moment to revel in the miracle that is telepathy.

 _(Oh. Well. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…,)_ Charles trails off, and he is blushing again but strangely grinning a little bit. Erik takes the grin to mean he’s glad but before he can speak Emma arrives again with their pasta. She’s still pointedly throwing heavy looks at Erik as she leans over the table and he’s just about had enough when Charles sends a wave of amusement and something that feels like _“trust me”_ Erik’s way.

“Darling, I just found someone willing to buy my bed,” Charles says, cheeks pink and expression coquettish. Erik tries not to choke on his drink, barely registering Emma’s startled face. “I’ll sell it tomorrow. You know we won’t need the extra when I move in,” Charles adds, and his roguish smile has _Erik_ flushing darkly. Erik’s heated gaze is broken when Emma slams down the last plate and flounces away, nose in the air. Charles bursts into peals of laughter then, and Erik laughs right along with him.

The pasta is wonderful and the conversation is even better as Erik and Charles open up to each other. Charles seems immeasurably fascinated by Erik’s writing and Erik is completely blown away when Charles tries to explain his genetics work. Erik has never been too much of a scientist but even he understands the level Charles’ work is on surpasses average by leaps and bounds. It seems like the perfect date and Erik can’t help but start to wonder.

 _I never really asked him for a **date**. He’s not stupid, but…I wonder if he counts this as a date. Can I ask? Is there a way to just ask?_ Erik’s inner dialogue is cut short when Charles offers him some pasta and instead of passing his plate he holds out his fork. There is a pink tinge to Charles’ cheeks but his eyes are determined and Erik feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. _Definitely a date._ Erik doesn’t miss the smile on Charles’ lips or the way his eyes follow Erik’s mouth on the fork. It is surreal and brilliant and Erik wonders for a moment if he hasn’t fallen into someone else’s life, someone far more blessed and graceful than he.

When Erik and Charles leave the restaurant the whole place bids them farewell and several of the waiters grin knowingly at the two. Somehow Erik has ended up with Charles’ arm threaded through his and the night seems five degrees warmer than it really is. As they walk across the dark campus Charles laughs and shivers a little bit, talking about his genetics work and how he believes that he can help create an even more accepting society for mutants. Erik can’t help but wish that the night would never end, as cliché as he knows it is. When they reach Charles’ apartment the telepath nervously tucks a dark brown wave back in place behind his ear.

“Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed it,” he says, smiling brightly, and the moonlight casts a blue glow against the side of his face. Erik doesn’t think he’s ever seen eyes as blue as Charles’ look in that very moment and he instantly forgets all of the questions he asks himself, all the second-guessing he’s been doing where Charles is concerned. There is no way that Erik will ever find out what Charles feels unless he admits his own feelings first.

Charles is searching Erik’s face with vague concern and Erik reaches out unthinkingly, hands framing the face that has suddenly become the moon of his life, mysterious and beautiful and so far away but so close. Erik feels Charles projecting- by mistake or purposely, he doesn’t know-shock and yearning and wonder roll over Erik in pulses that feel curiously like a heartbeat.

Maybe it’s stolen but Erik decides it’s worth it when he kisses Charles. For a moment there’s no response and shock is the only thing Erik feels, his own echoed back twofold from the telepath. After it fades, though, there’s a staggering amount of something- Erik can’t tell what, he’s too wrapped up in the tangible- but the closest thing it comes to is the word _right_. _This is right_.

The sentiment is crystal clear and Erik almost laughs at how perfect it feels when Charles kisses him back, rising to meet the slightly taller man, his fingers insistently tugging at the back of Erik’s head. There is a roar in Erik’s chest as he pushes Charles clumsily against the door of the apartment, glad for the alcove that effectively hides them from view of any passerby; it is quite possible that Erik won’t be able to let Charles go now that he has him.

Charles is bold as he bites Erik’s lip fiendishly, undoubtedly hoping for the entrance that Erik willingly gives. _Jesus,_ Erik thinks wildly as Charles’ tongue slides against his teeth in what is probably the equivalent of having sex with his mouth. Charles kisses like he’s at war and Erik is the one thing he’s fighting to protect. Erik can’t believe that anyone has ever dumped Charles before, has ever been able to let go of the way that Charles gives _everything_ , like he was _born_ for kissing. Erik can’t even begin to imagine what sex with Charles is like; he’s rapidly losing track of whose moans are making his lips vibrate and where their hands are. Every feeling blares twice as loud as anything he’s felt before and whether it’s a lack of control on Charles’ part or intentional doesn’t really matter because if he’d been asked Erik would have said yes.

 _(Erik,)_ Charles’ projection is just as out of breath and debauched as if he’d spoken and Erik is incredibly glad that they don’t have to stop kissing- although that’s somewhat of an understatement for what they’re doing. Charles sounds just as desperate as Erik feels and Erik barely knows what he’s doing anymore as his fingers pull Charles’ shirt from the confines of his pants. _(Erik, not- not out here-)_ The statement is rushed and barely pieced together.

Erik’s grin is more predatory than anything when he realizes that Charles wants this, wants _Erik_ , so much that he’s actually considering letting him in. Their hearts are beating rapidly in tandem and Erik responds, _(Why not? Give the neighbors something to look at.)_ He’s not entirely serious but Charles’ pupils seem to widen even more impossibly, leaving a thin rim of celestial blue glittering along the edges. Erik can _feel_ the rush coming from Charles and he’s about to suggest something when the lights in Charles’ living room suddenly turn on.

“ _Shit_ ,” Charles curses aloud, out of breath and gripping Erik’s arms as he looks over his shoulder. Erik blinks in the sudden light, confused. “Raven’s home,” Charles says quickly, and his hands move to adjust his disheveled clothes. Erik jumps back, coughing awkwardly as the lock on the door turns. Charles’ lips are starkly flushed in the harsh light and his hair is even wilder than it had already been. Erik realizes he doesn’t have time to just run back to his car and he knows that he probably looks equally out of sorts so he braces himself, taking solace in the shadow of the doorway.

“You’re back,” Raven sings happily as she opens the door, but when she actually _sees_ her brother and Erik she coughs, hiding a giggle. Her eyes are a little bit wide, but she looks away kindly, pretending to squint in the harsh light over the door. “I’ll give you a minute,” Raven says, biting her lip to stop the smile growing on her face. As the door shut Erik mentally curses her, hand running nervously through his hair.

Charles looks back at Erik with those _blue_ eyes and he bites his lip, smiling, reminiscent of his sister but decidedly more alluring. Erik steps forward a little, unsure of how to proceed. Charles fingers Erik’s hair gently, resting his head on his shoulder. It feels unlike what they’d been doing before and Erik can’t decide what he likes more. Charles is warm and he holds onto Erik for a moment, leaning back to press a lingering kiss to his lips. Erik unconsciously follows Charles’ lips for a moment afterwards and they both smile.

“Good night,” Charles says softly, and Erik can’t help but agree. _(Yes. The best.)_

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was very frustrated that Raven was inside the house the whole time! Believe me, I don't know what's going to happen next half the time. So do you think this will be a step backwards for Erik and Charles? Or will their midnight passion burn on?


	6. Sweetness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interlude chapter.   
> Erik daydreams about Charles far too much and a classmate notices; he is worried about whether or not the kiss was a mistake and Charles is acting odd.

Erik has spent the better part of the Friday daydreaming about Charles and the way that he kisses. It would be acceptable if Erik wasn’t in class almost every other hour. Luckily Erik isn’t singled out in any of his classes- but he suspects that if he were he’d be able to frighten his questioner into submission.

Logan shatters Erik’s fantasies in the middle of their Romantic Literature class (which is a blow off anyways), and he is met with an annoyed scowl.

“What’s with the stupid grin?” Logan asked gruffly, and his eyebrow was raised in an unimpressed arch. Erik steeled his gaze, which had never worked on Logan anyways. Logan was quite possibly the closest thing to a friend Erik had ever had considering they both tended away from other people.

“It’s more polite than that scowl you always wear, Lumberjack,” Erik replied coolly, using the mean nickname he reserved for times when he wanted Logan to leave him alone. Unfortunately Logan seemed to be in a good mood and he completely ignored the jab.

“This coming from the man that looks like a walking shark. What is it? Some pretty girl finally trip you into bed?” Logan snorted, leaning back in chair, muscled arms crossed over his faded black shirt. Erik stiffened in his seat and focused intently on the militaristic notes he’d taken. Before he could speak, Logan shifted in his chair, huffing.

“Should’ve guessed. Probably one of the Lit guys, huh? Nerds of a feather,” Logan says, snorting. There is absolutely nothing judgmental in his tone. He doesn’t seem to really _care_ more than a friend asking a question in passing. The realization catches Erik off guard, and he glances at Logan to see him looking at the professor, bored.

“Mmn,” Erik murmurs distractedly, instead watching a young woman at the front of the class as she glances back at them. She is familiar to him and he can’t remember why but the thing that catches his attention is the way she looks back at Logan. “I’m not the only one receiving attentions, it seems,” Erik replies, and he strategically makes his way to the door as the class is dismissed. Logan has no chance to reply.

 

* * *

 

Erik can’t walk fast enough to the café. He only has an hour for lunch until his next class and there is a burning in his blood. He _needs_ to see Charles. If ever Erik had an addiction, he’d hazard it would feel much like this. Every step seems far too small and the distance to the café seems to never change.

When the door swings open and the bells chime to announce his arrival Erik sees Charles look up from the counter. His eyes are hopeful but he is almost hesitant- as if he’s been constantly looking up to see who’s entering. When Charles sees him Erik is hit with a wave of something like giddy excitement and relief. _(You’re projecting, darling.)_

 _(Oops,)_ Charles responds, and his cheeks are pink. Erik grins as he walks up to the counter, reveling in the feeling of Charles’ telepathy. There is something intimate and alien about having your mind connected with someone else’s and Erik resolves to enjoy the experience.

“So did you turn in that paper to Moira?” Erik asks, affecting a serious tone and raising an eyebrow expectantly. Charles bites his lip and looks up at Erik through his dark lashes and the image is enough to induce a heart attack.

“You wouldn’t tell on me, would you?” Charles asks. _Oh my dear lord. What a **minx.**_ Erik doesn’t have time to think about what has just occurred because Charles is watching him expectantly, so he responds quickly.

“Maybe. I’ll need enticing,” Erik says, businesslike. He thinks that Charles is purposely flirting, and he didn’t even know Charles was _capable_ of flirting. His only response is to fall back on dry humor.

“Oh? _More_ enticing? You’re just out for all of the free samples, aren’t you?” Charles responds, raising an eyebrow lazily. _I can’t do this,_ Erik’s mind practically screams, _I am about to pull him over the counter **right now.**_ Charles’ face flushes a little bit and Erik belatedly realizes he probably accidentally projected a little bit. _Well, good. Let’s see how easy it is for him to keep **his** composure._

“Who, me?” Erik responds, casually leaning sideways against the counter. He conjures up an image, a bare remnant of the goodnight kisses they shared last night. It pales in comparison to the real thing but with some added color and feeling he’s sure the projection will throw Charles off kilter.

Erik knows he’s succeeded when Charles flushes brilliantly, a small gasp flying past his lips as he grips the counter tightly. Erik’s shark-like grin spreads slowly as he enjoys the view that is Charles. _This could be **very**_ _interesting,_ Erik thinks to himself, and before he can control the flow of thoughts he imagines what use this particular method of communication could be in a different setting. Fragmented scenes of Charles flushed and stretched on a bed fly through his mind like fleeting glimpses of paradise.

There is a small choking noise from Charles and Erik starts, realizing he may have inadvertently gone too far. One of Charles’ hands is clamped over his mouth while the other shakily presses against his stomach.

“Sorry- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-,” Erik quickly tries to apologize, face heated, thankful that no one is paying attention.

“No, it’s all right,” Charles responds breathlessly, and Erik determinedly ignores the sound of Charles’ voice. “It was my fault too. I could have shut you out,” Charles says, laughing airily as he takes a moment to calm down. “And I just…wanted to make sure. That you still…felt the same.”

Erik blinks at the confession, confused for a moment. When he registers the words he almost laughs at the thought but settles instead for grinning reassuringly.

“I’m not sure I could change my mind if I wanted to,” Erik replies mischievously, and Charles grins, laughing with cheeks still faintly pink. The moment is interrupted as the chime of the door sounds and Erik steps to the waiting side of the counter, out of the way.

Erik remembers the girl from the class he’s just left. She has warm, brown eyes and dark brown hair with odd white streaks framing her face. She looks extremely young for a college girl but her eyes have the world-weary, sad sheen of someone who has had to grow up too fast. Her smile is sweet, however, when she greets Charles.

“Hey, sugah. How are ya?” _She’s from the South, then,_ Erik notes, and he pretends to be perusing the catering menu. Charles smiles at the girl kindly as he moves to the pastry case.

“Good, Rogue. Same as usual?” _What an odd name,_ Erik thinks to himself.

“Yes, please,” Rogue replies, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with a gloved hand. Erik frowns slightly, glancing outside. It’s cool but not cold at all and he suddenly realizes that she’s dressed oddly for the weather. Long sleeves, gloves, and a scarf seem like extreme measures when it’s no colder than mid-seventies.

“I’ll be right back,” Charles says, and Erik looks up to realize that Rogue has noticed his gaze. Her eyes are curious and calculating at the same time and he resists the urge to pretend he wasn’t looking because it seems as if that would insult her intelligence.

“He likes you,” Rogue says suddenly, and her smile widens slowly. Erik blinks back at her, startled.

“What,” Erik says, and he realizes how stupid he sounds as the word leaves his lips. Rogue doesn’t seem to notice, though, and she returns to riffling through her wallet for something.

“Charles. He likes you. Terrible charmer, that boy,” Rogue says, giggling. Erik feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “He flirts with every living thing, I think. But you’re different. He actually thinks about what he’s saying to you,” Rogue says, and her eyes are narrowed as if she’s answering the question to a midterm.

“How do you know?” Erik asks, straightening from his position leaning against the counter.

“I’m a regular here. I notice,” Rogue replies vaguely, and Erik realizes that’s probably why he thought she looked familiar. _She must be here often enough to see us interact._

“Hm. Well, that’s good to know,” Erik replies, and Rogue smiles sweetly back at him. Something about her manner makes him think of what it would have been like to have a younger sister. “What about Logan? Is he a charmer as well?” Erik asks, and he already knows the answer but he wants to see if his suspicions are correct.

“Logan?” Rogue asks, and her brow is furrowed delicately. _Maybe not, then._

“A friend of mine. He sits beside me in Romantic Lit,” Erik explains, waving a hand to dismiss the error, but there is a spark of recognition in Rogue’s eyes.

“Oh, _Logan_. He…I hadn’t seen him in ages, not until the class,” Rogue replies faintly, and her voice seems to contain both joy and sorrow. Erik frowns a little- he knows Logan is standoffish sometimes, but he has never been cruel. Was Rogue a past lover he might have left? Or could she be a childhood friend that he simply fell out of contact with?

Charles reappears with Rogue’s drink and she thanks him, sending a secret but shaky smile to Erik before leaving.

“She’s a darling, isn’t she?” Charles says as he starts to empty a tray of pastries into the case. Erik watches her go, still curious.

“Yes. She knows Logan,” he adds as an afterthought, and Charles glances up, frowning.

“Your friend, right? Is that surprising? I know you said he was gruff, but if _you_ can be friends,” Charles trails off, grinning cheekily. Erik resolves to forget about it for the time being and he smirks back at Charles.

“Is that an insult?” Erik replies, pretending to be angry, and Charles laughs back at him. Almost too quickly to be seen, Charles leans across the counter and kisses Erik, quick and chaste. Erik is stunned into silence for a moment as he feels the ghost of Charles against his lips.

“Never. There’s more of you for me,” Charles says sweetly, but the playful spark in his eyes gives him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is, sadly, an interlude chapter to tide you over while I finish my finals. I'll be done with the Spring Semester by next week and then I'll be able to write more! I hope you enjoyed the familiar faces. I'm considering doing a spinoff/side-by-side story with Logan and Rogue. Y/N?


	7. Running

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's past returns and he has to face an unpleasant decision. Meanwhile Logan needs some advice and a little bit of prodding.

A part of Erik is almost entirely sure he’s dreaming as he looks down at the head of chocolate brown waves resting on his thigh. Charles has an odd proclivity for physical contact that Erik is sure stems from his mutation; while Charles can easily be close to someone mentally it’s quite another thing to be able to touch someone intimately.

It is a Thursday night and Erik invited Charles over in an uncharacteristic fit of whimsy. Usually Thursday evening is devoted to completing classwork and getting ahead but Erik is finding it increasingly difficult to be so studious when he has a boyfriend.

_Boyfriend_. The word rolls around Erik’s head and coils in his mouth, warm and heavy and waiting to be voiced. The word is inordinately pleasing and Erik feels- appallingly – something warm and fuzzy in the pit of his stomach. _Warm_ and _fuzzy_ were never things Erik had much time or feeling for, but he is positive that Charles has brought both to Erik’s life.

“Oh, this is nice,” Charles says lazily, and he lifts the magazine he’s been perusing to show Erik the bed sheets he’s found. When Charles had first come to Erik’s apartment, he’d oohed and ahhed at the metallic kitchen and minimalist black and white decor. The bedroom, however, had apparently been lacking.

“Erik,” Charles had said, and his flat, disappointed tone was enough to make Erik want to get on his knees and relinquish control of all design decisions concerning the bedroom. Apparently Erik’s expression had seemed worried and anxious because Charles simply sighed a little bit, smiling, and placated Erik with a small kiss. “It’s not bad, darling,” Charles said kindly. “It’s just that you don’t have to hold back when it comes to something that will make you happy.”

“You’re amazing,” Erik had replied, quite by mistake. It wasn’t his fault that his every thought was worship when it concerned Charles. It was worth it to see Charles’ blush, though.

“Besides,” Charles had said, voice fading as he walked away, “I won’t go anywhere near it until we at least get more pillows.”

It was a promise that Charles would, in the future, be in Erik’s bed. And even if it is in a completely chaste manner Erik is perfectly fine with the thought.

“They’re nice,” Erik finally replies as he looks at the set Charles likes. The sheets are mocha and the comforter is a deep purple with dark brown and black accents. Erik generally has a fine sense of design and fashion but it is limited to whatever is reasonably priced and comes in a pre-organized set. It is probably lamentable that Erik buys his rooms essentially from sets he sees at stores but it has worked up until now. Charles is different and even though he lives in student housing he obviously has a sense for interior design. It is curious and Erik would like to ask about it but he knows that some things are best to let come in time.

“Oh, darling, Moira mentioned today that you haven’t answered an email she sent you. She seemed very insistent,” Charles added, shuddering as he undoubtedly remembered her angry expression. Erik is sorry that Charles had to face the wrath of the fiery woman but he is distracting by the word _darling_. He still can’t get over the fact that Charles likes to use it so much or that he has starting calling Erik his darling so readily.

“Hmmm. I should check that now,” Erik says dryly, picking his phone up from the coffee table. Charles’ waves are like silk between the fingers of his left hand and Charles arches like a cat, obviously enjoying the attention. Erik wasn’t too surprised to find that Charles is almost shockingly physical in his interactions. Nothing about Charles’ touch is overtly sexual but he relishes touching. Holding hands, hugging, anything that involves physical contact. Erik wonders if Charles was deprived as a child and the thought makes him unreasonably angry.

Erik’s inbox is filled with unread messages, mostly class assignment updates that he’s already finished early. In between the updates, however, is a message from Moira.

_Moira MacTaggert_

_To Erik Lehnsherr_

_Fwd: Visiting Professor/Lyceum and Dinner Saturday_

_\---------- Forwarded Message -------------_

_From: “English Department Events” <engdept@nyu.edu>_

_Date: May 1, 2014 6:41 PM_

_Subject: Visiting Professor/Lyceum and Dinner Saturday_

_To:_ “Moira MacTaggert” _< mmactaggert@nyu.edu>, _“Scott Summers” < _ssummers@nyu.edu >…_

_Cc:_

_Professors,_

_Please inform your students of the upcoming event this Saturday featuring Professor Sebastian Shaw. It is open to all University students and may be used by Professors for extra credit. The lyceum will be held in the lecture hall at 6 pm. The formal dinner following the lyceum is open only to faculty and select students in upper-level English courses._

_Thank You,_

_Raven Xavier_

_Assistant Chair of Events Center_

 

Erik felt his fingers begin to numb, the weight of the phone leaden in his hand. A cold chill ran up his spine in way he hadn’t felt in years. _Shaw._ There was a buzzing in his ears, the white noise blocking out the pleasant sounds of the piano that had been flowing from the radio beneath the television.

“-ik. Erik. Erik, darling, what’s wrong?” Erik hadn’t felt the weight of Charles’ head disappear, but he was suddenly faced with blue eyes. Charles was visibly worried and Erik realized he’d probably called his name several times.

“I….,” _I what?_ Erik wondered to himself, the cold hand of despair gripping his heart. _I had an abusive boyfriend once that was also much older than myself? A Professor? A man that took pleasure in dissecting every inch of my being until I was left broken and torn?_ The words were like acid on his tongue, burning away.

Charles’ eyes were shining with some unknown emotion and he pulled Erik’s head forward, fingers gentle against his neck. Charles’ arm rested against Erik’s back comfortingly and he laid his head on Erik’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t need to know,” Charles says softly. Erik breathed in deeply, fingers knotted in the soft cotton of Charles’ sweater. All he wanted was to drown in the scent of lavender and peppermint that was purely Charles. Here, in his quiet apartment, there was no Shaw. There were no condescending smirks and cruel fingers, no bruising of the mind and body.

A surge of rage welled up from somewhere deep inside Erik. _I can’t let him do this. I can’t let him continue to hold any part of me. What am I so afraid of? I have Charles and he loves me and Shaw is nothing, was nothing. I shouldn’t have to hide from anything. I am not a child._

“I’m going,” Erik decided, calmly, coldly, and he lifted his head to stare at the door beyond Charles.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Erik feels a little less sure of his decision as he enters his Romantic Literature class. Technically he doesn’t _need_ the extra credit that he will get for going to the lyceum, but his professors are expecting him to attend. It would look strange for the University’s star English student to not attend a lyceum featuring a visiting professor. Even besides what his teachers think Erik feels as if he _needs_ to go, maybe to prove something. To prove to himself, or maybe to Shaw, or even to Charles that he is stronger. Erik is stronger than the boy he was when he met Shaw.

“The shark face is back,” Logan rumbles as he takes his seat next to Erik. Erik sighs, fingers massaging his brow as he tries to forget about the upcoming event.

“Oh?” Erik replies, unconcerned. His eyes are trained on Rogue, who is sitting near the front of the class. She seems to be by herself, completely isolated from all the other students. _Should I ask him about her?_

“You made quite the exit the other day,” Logan begins tightly. His arms seemed to be crossed more tensely than usual. Erik flips open his notebook, carefully observing Logan’s posture in his periphery. “Care to explain?”

“I was simply making an observation,” Erik replies calmly, neatly printing the date at the top of the lined page. Logan shifts slightly in his seat, jaw clenching and unclenching in an uncharacteristic show of anger.

“Oh really? And what exactly did you observe that made you say that?” Erik settles back in his seat, finally chancing a direct look at Logan. _There’s something going on here that I don’t know about._ His first instinct was to deny knowledge, face the consequences, and never deal with Logan again. It wouldn’t hurt him, but neither would it help. Charles’ words suddenly came to him. _He’s…my friend,_ Erik thought to himself. Maybe it was time to make another change.

“Do you know the young woman sitting up at the front?” Erik asks, turning and resting his arm against the back of his chair. “The one with the unusual hair.” Logan frowns, the question catching him off guard. He loosens up a bit as he turned to gaze at the rows below them.

“Wait…,” Logan murmurs, and he suddenly leans forward, arms uncrossing as he gazes down at Rogue. His face holds shock and wonder and something else Erik can’t quite place.

“Wait, did you _just now_ realize she’s in our class?” Erik blurts incredulously, a little louder than he’d meant to. Rogue glances towards the back of the classroom, her white and dark brown hair falling gracefully in a deep waterfall. Her soft brown eyes seemed to light when she sees Logan but she quickly turns back to the front. Erik thinks he can see her gloved fingers smoothing nervously over her notebook.

“I didn’t- I never saw her,” Logan wonders aloud, appearing somewhat dazed. Erik raises an eyebrow at the statement.

“I’m actually worried. Do you need your vision checked?” Erik asks, completely serious. _There’s no way he just didn’t see her._ Logan isn’t even listening, too focused on Rogue to hear Erik’s words. Of all the things Erik had imagined, he’d never have thought that Logan would simply not have seen the young woman. _He is….such a **man**_ , Erik thought to himself incredulously.

“Wait. Do you know her? Why were you saying she was paying attention to me? Has she seen me?” Logan suddenly demands, facing Erik with a fierce gaze tempered by the strange light in his eyes. Erik leans back in his seat, one leg thrown over the other in a relaxed pose. It seems that, if nothing else, he will be in for quite the show.

“She frequents the shop that Charles works at. I just noticed her looking back at you in class one day and I supposed you knew her and that’s why you were so happy. She mentioned to me later that day that she did know you, but…,” Erik trails off, unsure of how to continue. She had seemed…disappointed? Upset? She was certainly happy to see Logan, but something had obviously kept her from coming up to see him.

“I knew her. Years ago,” Logan adds dazedly. He didn’t seem to care about Erik’s hanging sentence. “Three or four years ago. Picked her up off the side of the road in the freezing snow,” Logan chuckles. Something about the way he described the encounter made Erik think it hadn’t gone the way Logan had expected it to. _He loves her. I don’t know in what manner, but that much cannot be denied._

“What happened?” Erik inquires gently, and he surprises himself with the way in which he said the words. They didn’t come out sounding like something he was required to say or was expected of him. _Charles really is changing me._ A grin spread across Logan’s face as he remembered the encounter.

“She was at the bar I was fighting at. Sittin’ in the corner, tryin’ to keep her head down. She saw me get into it with the bar owner and tried to tell me to look out even when she realized I was a mutant, too. I didn’t wanna take her with me but she knew just what to say,” Logan huffs in amazement. He shakes his head, resting his chin on his open hand.

“So what happened? Why did she- or you- leave?” Erik asks carefully, lowering his voice as the professor pauses in his brief explanation of a particularly interesting passage from Morte D’Arthur. A brief shadow flickers across Logan’s face and he rubs a tired hand across his scruffy face.

“I had to leave,” Logan explains, but it sounds like even he doesn’t believe himself. Erik glances down at Rogue, watching the way her gloved fingers grip an old-fashioned ink pen that glides across her notebook in immaculate cursive. “I had…I needed to find someone. Someone that wasn’t too kind to me, someone that had answers to the questions I was looking for. I didn’t know who I was,” Logan explained, but he only seems more frustrated at the convoluted explanation. Erik examines the words for a moment, thinking. _I thought I was lost too. I thought I was broken and I had to keep running away from everything- from Shaw, from myself- from happiness. But Charles came along and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t run away from **him**. Never._

“We are a little bit alike, I think,” Erik begins slowly, tapping his pen lightly against his notebook. The ink leaves a small mark behind, a deep well that tapers into a thinning line. “I run away. You run _to_ , but it’s still away. Away from what’s important, I think. What will- or does- make you happy,” Erik concluded, folding his hands. The words are stupid to his own ears, and he thinks for a moment that his attempt at replicating Charles’ calm, reassuring manner has failed. Logan seems to consider Erik’s words, though, and he turns to look back at Rogue.

“Maybe,” he says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry! I've been crazy busy helping plan my sister's graduation for the past two weeks so I haven't been able to post! Thankfully summer has officially begun and I'll be able to post regularly. I swear!


	8. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik attends the lyceum and is surprised when he sees Shaw. Charles does something unexpected.

Erik feels the fabric of the dark gray suit with numb fingers. The lyceum is in less than an hour and he’s still standing in front of his closet, eyes unfocused and glassy. There is a constricting pain in his chest and every second that ticks by is another moment Erik comes closer to seeing Shaw.

It had started as a silly thing, really. Shaw was a young professor, a smart man with a commanding stride and careless smirk that seemed to say he knew something amazing and he might just tell you if you stayed close enough. Erik was a child, still aching from his family’s death and looking for his place in the world. Their meeting was brief but electric and Erik was haunted by those bright eyes and the crystal words that Shaw seemed to impart like gems to the many students that followed him devoutly. It could have ended there, and it should have, but it hadn’t.

Erik had been all too pliant beneath Shaw’s expert hands, easily molded to the older man’s whims. At the beginning Erik had not thought of anything but the fact that he must be special, singular, to have caught such a powerful man’s attention. It did not matter that Shaw could be cold and cruel, toying with Erik like a cat with a mouse. Shaw was far better than he and Erik was fully aware of what he thought was fact. Things changed, though. Erik began to see the way Shaw took pleasure from breaking Erik, building him up and consequently destroying him with cold criticism and careless ignorance.

In the end, Erik had been the one to leave, even more broken than before. He’d run as far as he dared, finally stopping to rebuild the remnants of the man he’d been before everything that had happened.

And then there was Charles.

Unexpected, unrequested, unexplainable Charles. Erik had never dreamed he’d be able to have someone like Charles by his side, much less in his arms. He didn’t feel like he deserved Charles and he knew that feeling was yet another thing Shaw had stolen. It wasn’t Erik’s place to question Charles. If Charles wanted to be with Erik he was only insulting Charles by believing his love was misplaced. It was something Erik knew, and he was working to make himself believe it.

The phone rang and Erik turned, reaching for it where it rested on his bed.

“Hello, darling. I’m outside.” Charles’ voice was rich and warm like chocolate. Erik smiled to himself, pulling the suit out of the closet.

“Come in. It’s unlocked.” The connection ended and Erik put his phone on the nightstand, listening to the click of the door and the shuffle of Charles discarding his coat. Erik waited, his heart aching for the sight of the man that was making his way to the bedroom.

Charles was breathtaking as always. Messy waves of dark brown hair framed his bright blue eyes, the clear pools focused on Erik. His suit was a dark blue-grey, the custom tailoring accentuating his figure beautifully. _I’m so glad I had that made,_ Erik thought to himself absentmindedly. Charles smiled, and his pink mouth curved welcomingly.

It was incredible how perfect kissing Charles was. Erik could never get bored kissing Charles, and it was almost like every time was just as wonderful, if not better, than the last. Now, as they stood in the quiet bedroom, Charles kissed Erik unhurriedly. It was soft, slow, and everything Erik hadn’t realized he needed. Erik felt his body loosen almost instantaneously, as if the kiss was registering him sedate.

“You’re not dressed,” Charles commented, resting his forehead against Erik’s.

“No. I was having second thoughts,” Erik replied calmly, still feeling the pleasant buzz on his lips.

“I should hope you would be more committed,” Charles teased kindly, and his fingers threaded through Erik’s hair. “But I suppose it could be amusing to help you…dress,” he added slyly, blue eyes mischievous. Erik chuckled softly, kissing him to quiet him.

“Perhaps the other way around. I’m afraid I really would never leave if you were to dress me,” Erik replied, and Charles laughed brightly, his cheeks rosy in the dim light. Erik wondered at the image for a moment before he reached for his suit, the heavy edges of dread trying to claw their way back to his chest.

“I’ll get ready.”

 

* * *

 

The auditorium was crowded with murmuring students and Erik felt as if his heart were beating fear into his veins with every passing moment. Charles knew about Shaw, what little Erik could explain haltingly before Charles had quieted him. _I don’t need to know, Erik,_ Charles had said quietly, blue eyes shining. _It is for you to decide. All I need to know is that you are here with me now. Your past made you who you are today, and I respect that- but you don’t have to tell me._

Erik held Charles’ hand gently as the lights began to dim and he exhaled quietly, bracing himself. Charles sent him a reassuring smile before turning to watch the stage. There was a seat, a table with water, and a podium. A spotlight shone suddenly and Erik didn’t hear the announcer because his heart was thundering in his ears. Amidst the commotion there was applause and then there he was.

Shaw was _old_ , Erik thought. He seemed beaten down by time, still thin and commanding but showing the telltale signs of time. Grey hairs, wrinkles forming where before there had only been sharp edges. The intimidating figure from Erik’s memory was chipped away as he saw Shaw for what he truly was- old, in the last years of his supposed fame and without any great work to his name.

The rest of the lyceum passed almost quickly, Shaw speaking and receiving questions. Erik felt almost disappointed by Shaw’s remarks, finding flaws and flowery language where before there had seemed to be only wit. _He is no more remarkable than anyone else. He is only a man, and not a great one by any measure._ The thought sank in and Erik felt almost released from a tether he’d never felt before, a chain that had always held him down. The lyceum ended and Charles looked to Erik, frowning a little.

_< Not as great as I’d imagined,> _Charles remarked mentally, and Erik could’ve kissed him right there and then.

“The dinner is only open to some students,” Erik began, reaching for his coat.

“I could get in, if you want me to,” Charles replied calmly, but Erik thought he could detect a hint of nervousness in Charles’ voice.

“What do you mean?” Erik asked, curious.

“I mean…well, my parents’ fund makes generous donations, and I _do_ have some connections,” Charles said slowly, and he sounded almost guilty. Erik wondered at the idea for a moment before realizing what Charles was doing. _He doesn’t want to rub money in my face,_ Erik realized, and he felt like laughing at the thought. _As if he ever rubs anything in._

“No, don’t worry. I don’t think I’ll go,” Erik said, and he realized as he said it that he was happy. He was _happy_ , and it wasn’t just avoidance that was keeping him from attending the dinner. Erik had decided of his own volition not to go and he was simply not going to attend. Shaw no longer mattered, and he never had- and it had taken this long for Erik to realize it.

“All right,” Charles replied, and he laughed happily, eyes searching Erik’s face and lighting on the smile he found there.

“Ah, Lehnsherr. I thought I heard your voice.”

Shaw looked even more run-down from up close and Erik turned to see that despite his age and lack of fame Shaw still tried desperately to appear important. The sharp gaze was still present but his smirk was now tinged at the edges with frustration- the frustration of one who did not have near as much as they believed they deserved.

“Doctor,” Erik said politely, dipping his head formally. There was no need to be dismissive or defensive; Erik simply didn’t care about the man before him. Erik was vaguely aware of Charles by his side, quiet and stately as ever. Shaw seemed to notice Charles and his eyes appraised him appreciatively. The gaze made Erik’s skin prickle and he felt the edges of anger bleed into his better judgment.

“I see you are doing well,” Shaw noted, almost dismissive in his appraisal. He was interested in Charles. Far too interested, Erik thought, and the burning anger grew. Shaw smiled, all teeth, and Erik noticed the charm he was trying to exude. Charles seemed not to notice, ignoring Shaw’s lecherous advances in favor of watching Erik.

“Yes. If you’ll excuse me-,” Erik began curtly, and he was interrupted by an eager Shaw.

“Of course. I’ll take care of this young man. You are?” Shaw smoothly inserted himself next to Charles and Erik felt the fire explode in his chest, incensed at the small technicality and the way in which Shaw had all too eagerly taken the opportunity.

“He is none of your concern,” Erik interjected coldly, stepping closer, but Shaw placed himself between Charles and Erik easily. His eyebrows raised delicately, expression mild.

“Do you speak for him, then? That’s no way to treat such a fine young man,” Shaw said condescendingly, and Erik felt his heart grow cold. Doubt was an unwelcome guest suddenly gripping him and he couldn’t help the worry that suddenly consumed him. _Am I being rude? What if Charles **wants** to talk to him? Who am I to hold him back?_ Erik barely noticed Shaw’s triumphant grin as he paled, mouth working soundlessly as he stepped backwards, ready to leave and never look back again. Things had come crashing down on his head once again and it was like the world was falling in on itself. Erik was vaguely aware of Charles trying to communicate with him but he shut out the mental pleas, cold and confused.

“Why don’t you join me for dinner?” Shaw asked, and his hand was suddenly holding Charles’ and Erik couldn’t bear to watch as Shaw brought a delicate hand to his lips. The roaring in Erik’s ears seemed to crescendo.

The sound echoed in the near-empty auditorium. Erik watched in shock as Shaw stood rigid, head snapped to the side violently. Charles, chest heaving in rage, his dark waves awry, was glaring at Shaw with a fury unlike anything Erik had ever witnessed before. The world stopped for a moment as Erik stood there, and then suddenly everything rushed back into movement.

Moira appeared seemingly from nowhere, exclaiming and fussing, and Shaw opened his mouth to speak only to be cut short by a warning hand from Charles.

“Moira, a word,” Charles said coldly, and even Moira did not argue as she stepped aside, speaking in hushed tones with Charles. Shaw stood in place, recovering from the shock and appearing both indignant and disbelieving. _No one has ever done that before,_ Erik realized dazedly. Moira walked away from Charles, mouth set, and her disapproving gaze locked on Shaw. She spoke in low tones as she escorted him firmly away.

“Charles,” Erik breathed, and he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what, so he settled for the worry bubbling inside him. “Are you all right? Did you- are you in trouble?” Charles huffed, cheeks red, eyes bright. He seemed beyond words, and Erik worried until he felt the waves of rage mentally rebounding from their link.

_< I’m sorry. Erik, I- I’m sorry. No, I’m not in trouble. I just- no. I could **hear** him, and-, > _Charles stopped, fingers rubbing his temples, and Erik realized what had happened.

“You knew. You knew what he was thinking,” Erik said, shocked. _< Oh my god. What did I put you through? Charles, I’m sorry, I didn’t-,>_

“It wasn’t your fault,” Charles finally said, and the color in his cheeks was finally receding. “Shaw is a vile piece of scum and he deserves far more than that,” Charles added, and his seething words seemed to physically burn in the air. Erik was taken aback by the statement until the thought of just what Shaw had probably been thinking.

“He does deserve worse,” Erik said scathingly, growling in anger at the thought of Charles having his privacy invaded by the undoubtedly graphic nature of Shaw’s mind and thoughts.

“Well, he’ll be having nightmares for ages,” Charles said with dark amusement, and Erik was once again surprised.

“You can do that?”

“I can, and I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I know it's short! I just knew I wanted the focus of the entire chapter to be on the lyceum and Erik dealing with Shaw once and for all. It was also kind of a segue into explaining more of Charles' past and why he is at college with Raven. From here Charles and Erik will develop quite beautifully!


	9. Commencement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things commence in more than one sense of the word.   
> Or: the chapter with graduation, giving, and the beginning of life.

Erik shivered, brushing the snow from his coat as he stepped into the coffee shop. It was mid-December and freezing as ever, the students on campus all bundled in their warmest clothes. Erik smiled as he saw Charles organizing lemon tarts on a tray, bright blue eyes merry. Charles had been growing his hair out (purely experimentally) and Erik wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the unruly waves. Of course, to Erik, nothing could make Charles look bad.

“Erik,” Charles said happily, rising from a crouch to greet him. Erik chuckled, responding to Charles’ confused face by swiping away flour from his nose. “So, was it…?”

“I am now Assistant Dean,” Erik confirmed, unable to stop his grin. Charles whooped excitedly, hugging Erik from across the counter. The patrons glanced over with amused smiles, no doubt used to Charles’ level of enthusiasm. Erik laughed, patting Charles’ arm while thinking of just how wonderful life was.

It had been one year since Charles and Erik had met and they were stronger than ever. While Erik had started with his fair share of reservations, Charles had been willing and absolutely _wonderful_. Charles was patient and kind and strong and Erik felt he’d been given the greatest gift he’d never asked for. Everything was so perfect, in fact, that Erik was beginning to worry. He worried about whether or not Charles was getting bored, or tired of Erik, or if maybe Erik still hadn’t given quite enough.

“What’s on your mind?” Charles asked, perceptive as ever, and he leaned his chin on his open palm. Erik smiled, leaning against the counter.

“I…want to give you more,” Erik began, trying to figure out how to explain what it was he wanted to say. Charles’ gaze softened and he smiled, the glow illuminating everything around him.

“Erik, you’ve already given me everything. You’re always there for me, and I know that you love me. We have a wonderful apartment- and _really_ good sex,” Charles added, smirking, and Erik choked, flushing a little. “There’s not much more you could ever give me.”

Erik smiled and Charles kissed him, unafraid, just like always did.

It wasn’t until Erik had left that he realized what he had been trying to figure out.

_I want to marry him._

 

* * *

 

The graduation ceremony was thankfully indoors; outside the wind was blowing and snow blanketed the campus. Charles had been practically jumping with nervous energy that morning and Erik had just smiled, taking the mental and physical energy in stride. As Assistant Dean, Erik could present diplomas at graduation. What Charles didn’t know was that Erik would present Charles’ diploma. After speaking to Moira and the Science department Erik had received the necessary permission.

What no one knew was that Erik was going to propose.

Thankfully Charles’ name would be last but Erik was nervous nonetheless as the ceremony started. _I can’t believe I’m doing this_ , Erik thought to himself as he watched the students passing by. Erik was never one for public displays, but something of this magnitude- especially something involving Charles- required an audience.

Erik fidgeted in his seat, watching the names go by until there were three left. He rose from his seat, slipping out a side door, making his way to the stage entrance. In an attempt to keep things professional, Erik had opted for a suit instead of traditional attire, hoping that he wouldn’t get in _too_ much trouble for what he was about to do.

Moira signaled Erik behind her back and he mounted the steps, heart in his throat. Charles was approaching the stage, and his serene smile gave way to confusion as Erik stood at the end of the stage, holding the diploma.

“Charles Xavier,” the man at the podium said, and Erik felt as if the world were slowing to a stop.

There was Charles, blue eyes bright, hair just cut and framing his fair skin in dark waves.

And he was perfect.

The nervousness faded and Erik grinned as he handed Charles the diploma. He waited a beat before going down on one knee, smiling up at Charles as the younger man gasped, a hand flying to his mouth as the auditorium suddenly grew silent.

“Charles Xavier. Will you marry me?”

The angel’s lips parted, eyes wide and shining, and Erik felt his world hanging on a thread.

“Yes,” Charles breathed.

The auditorium erupted in cheers and applause. Even Moira had cast her annoyed gaze aside in favor of elation. Erik rose, and Charles hugged him, and in that moment he knew his life would never be the same.

And this time, that was just what he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so nervous to finish this up! I felt like the last chapter really pulled everything together by letting Erik get past Shaw, and I sort of regretted not adding this to the end. However, I do feel like this makes sense. It's like coming back to a book after not having read it for a year and finding it's even better than you remember. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it! And I'm still considering writing the Logan/Rogue side story!


End file.
